


As though of hemlock I had drunk

by celestialskiff



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Mommy Kink, Submission, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 21:10:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12284457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialskiff/pseuds/celestialskiff
Summary: “Little Slayer is feeling sorry for herself.”AU Season Six: Drusilla, not Spike, is in Sunndydale. Buffy is drawn to her.





	As though of hemlock I had drunk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [libraralien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraralien/gifts).



> Thanks to my two excellent betas. <3

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains   
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk 

\- John Keats, _Ode to a Nightingale_

 

1.

After Buffy woke she forgot she was safe. A wooden box confined her, she fought six feet of wet earth. Then she smelt laundry detergent, felt warm cotton sheets under her shoulders. Her body burnt with life: the heat under her breasts, the strength of her muscles, the gleam of her skin. It hurt to be so alive. 

She could not sleep. Every night, long after she should have ceased patrolling, she kept walking. Feeling the pulse in her feet, the night chill. She was waiting for a fight: she was waiting for a hand clamped to her throat, red behind her eyes, an unending fall. 

She did not know if she wanted to fight and fight until she finally began to feel alive again, or if she wanted to be broken in pieces. 

It was a cool night, the smell of fast food and sweat on her clothes, when she met Drusilla at the edge of a cemetery. Drusilla waited in a gravel square lined in laurel trees, on a stone bench. For a cemetery, it was pretty, and Drusilla looked at home there: an elegant shape in the moonlight, another shadow. Buffy could feel her presence, almost taste her on her skin, the way a snake tastes the pheromones of its prey before it sees them. 

It had been so long since she had seen Drusilla. She had not thought of her, but now the memories leapt up, vivid: Drusilla's laughter; Kendra's throat lined in blood; Drusilla dressed in red, dancing; Drusilla's hand in Buffy's hair. Buffy's knees felt weak, her heart began to pound. Drusilla was a vampire worth fighting: Drusilla's strength pushed Buffy to the limits of her own.

Drusilla regarded her. Buffy knew she sensed Buffy's elevated heart-rate, could probably hear the blood pounding in Buffy's ears. Buffy shifted her weight into a fighting stance. She stood, cocky, said, “What, the circus in town again? Or is it the creepy doll collectors alliance? Either way, I don't have time for this.” 

Drusilla moved like a predator. Slow and sure and lithe. Buffy swallowed. 

“Something happened to the little Slayer. She smells of grave-dust and satin. She's changed.” 

“I can still kick your ass.” 

Drusilla was in front of Buffy now, dark eyes drawing Buffy's own. Buffy did her best not to meet Drusilla's gaze. She balled her hands into fists. 

“I hear your soul. Little bird, little chick. Peep, peep, peep. Crying for Mummy.” 

Drusilla was not touching her but Buffy felt her, like she was pressing her cool skin to Buffy's own. “My soul is telling you to piss off,” Buffy snapped. “Maybe you need to get your hearing checked.” 

Drusilla's thumb grazed Buffy's chin. Light as a feather. But she'd nicked Buffy's skin; she was licking a drop of blood from her fingertip. “Don't worry, little chick. Mummy's here.” 

Buffy's muscles trembled now with pent up energy. She lunged towards the vampire, but Drusilla was already out of range. Buffy stumbled after her, leaping across the courtyard, jumping the stone bench, pushing through the laurel bushes. Drusilla's velvet skirts were in front of her, always moving further away. 

Buffy panted, standing among the gravestones, spoiling for a fight. The cemetery was empty, silent, blameless. 

2\. 

Drusilla's fingernails. Their narrow edge, their rigidity. Buffy dreamt of them. The nails on her inner thighs, the small of her back. Red welts. 

She woke with her mouth dry, a nameless ache in her abdomen. 

3\. 

“Little Slayer is feeling sorry for herself.” 

Before she entered the empty playground, Buffy had known Drusilla was there. She had sensed her presence as she would sense a fist coming for her head from behind. 

“I hoped you'd run off for good. Guess I couldn't be so lucky.” 

In the shadows of the playground, swings creaking, Drusilla didn't look out of place. She brought an eeriness with her everywhere. Buffy didn't like her being here: vampires belonged in crypts, not among slides and old ice-cream cones. 

“Little Slayer thinks no-one has ever felt so alone. Little Slayer has forgotten how to sleep.” Drusilla chuckled “Peep, peep. I can help.” 

“Help me sleep?” Buffy shrugged. “The sweet release of death isn't quite what I had in mind, thanks.” 

“Lies to herself. Lying to yourself, little Slayer. I tasted your blood.” 

Buffy's hand went to her chin. “You won't again.” 

A breeze stirred the trees around them. Buffy felt tired suddenly: the ache she'd been feeling for months, as though she no longer had any skin, as though she was made of raw nerve. Even here, the world was too bright, too loud. She didn't want to live or die; either option was too hard. She wondered if vampires felt like that too, drained by the path of night into day. 

Drusilla was closer to her now. Buffy hadn't seen her move. 

“Are we going to do this?” Buffy asked, squaring her shoulders. “Let's try not to get blood on the swing-set, OK?” 

On the warm wind, she smelt cinnamon. It reminded her of doughnuts, laughter, Sunnydale library after hours. The mixture of dread and companionship that seemed to define her life. 

“What do you want to do, hmm, Miss Slayer?” Drusilla asked. “Do you want to come to tea? Do you want to share stories of waking up wrong? Alive when you shouldn't be?” 

Buffy rubbed her head. “Stop being so insightful, it's weird.” 

Drusilla's hand cupped her cheek. 

Drusilla shouldn't be able to get so close to Buffy without her noticing. Why was she letting it happen? Buffy shuddered, drawing away. The fingers followed her: cold, insistent. 

Buffy struck, hand going for Drusilla's face, leg for her side. Drusilla blocked her, laughing, and Buffy stumbled. They fought, briefly and hard. Buffy felt the force of Drusilla's limbs, her strength hidden beneath her velvet. Drusilla's silky hair brushed Buffy's face. 

Buffy was panting, a graze on her cheek. She had various quips in mind, but she didn't say any of them. She could still smell cinnamon, sweet, almost sickly. She felt the wrongness of her life in her guts. Drusilla's words had cut into her: no one had spoken to her with such understanding since she returned. 

“Enjoy that, little one?” 

“I'm not little,” Buffy snapped, surprised by how childish and petulant she sounded. 

“Little Slayer doesn't think she's little.” Drusilla took a step closer. “She seems very little to me. Just born.” 

“What do you want?” Buffy said. It felt like a whine now. 

Cold hands on her shoulder. Touch of the fingernails through thin cloth. Buffy shuddered: a shudder through her whole body. She felt warm and ashamed. 

Drusilla smiled. “What do you want?” 

4.

Buffy woke suddenly. She hadn't meant to fall asleep on the couch. Her head throbbed, and the TV was tuned to stock market prices. She rubbed spit off her face with her hand, staring around, afraid something actually dangerous had woken her. 

“You looked so peaceful. Drool-y, but peaceful.” Dawn was sitting in the armchair, legs folded under her. The biology textbook on her lap suggested she might be doing homework, but the doodles on the paper in front of her belied that. 

“It tastes like something died in my mouth.” It was hard to focus on the present moment. Buffy hadn't been dreaming about graves for once. She remembered red lips, cold fingers. 

Dawn nodded sagely. “Always happens. I fell asleep in math and it was like some fish hung out in my mouth for a while. Really stinky fish.” 

Buffy rubbed her eyes. “You shouldn't fall asleep in math. Didn't you fail your last pop quiz?” 

Dawn immediately went from relaxed to alert. “Well, maybe you shouldn't fall asleep in the middle of the day either. Don't you have a job?” 

“I haven't been sleeping well,” Buffy said. She didn't want an argument. She found the remote and turned off the TV. The room seemed a lot darker without its glow. 

“Oh.” Dawn's face softened. She added wings to a love-heart she'd drawn. “Yeah, I hear you sometimes.” 

“You hear me?” 

“You come in so late. And then you get up so early,” Dawn said. She carefully added feathers to the wings. 

“Oh.” Buffy pictured Dawn lying in the dark, not sleeping, listening to Buffy's nocturnal movements. “I didn't know I kept you up.”

“You don't.” Dawn sighed and put down her pen. “It's just good to know you're around, you know? Even if you're skulking in the window. At least I know you're there.” 

She got up and sat next to Buffy on the couch, leaning her warm side against Buffy. Buffy wanted to relax into the touch, but she instantly felt nervous. Antsy. She wanted to run. 

“I'm here,” she said. She brushed Dawn's hair back from her face. Dawn looked up at her, full of a need for something Buffy couldn't supply: affection, stability. Buffy turned away, jumping off the sofa. “You need to finish your homework.” 

 

5.

This time she went looking for Drusilla. She couldn't deny to herself what she was doing: searching the familiar crypts and nests for a sign of the vampire. 

“Little chick. Come to Mummy's coop?” Drusilla's voice was a sing-song. Buffy followed it, through the broken marble columns, along a line of yew trees, to a long-abandoned house. Drusilla was inside, surrounded by candles and dolls. She shimmered. 

Buffy thought of the kids who followed bread-crumbs in a dark forest and came to the shining candy house. She thought about how they gorged themselves on chocolate and taffy before the witch ate them. Sweet, sweet mouthfuls, and then death: it didn't sound so bad. 

“Did you put me under your thrall?” Buffy asked. “Because I've broken a thrall before, I can do it again.” 

Drusilla smiled at her, feral. Her red velvet dress clung to her form. “I didn't have to.” 

Buffy believed her. She wished she didn't. She knew in her bones that she'd come here of her own free will. 

“I should kick you out. You're a vampire. You've been eating people.” But rather than squaring her shoulders, Buffy folded her arms over her stomach, hugging herself. 

“I won't eat you. Even though the Slayer tastes like rose-hips and tokay.” 

“Why not?” Buffy tried not to look directly at Drusilla, but she kept meeting those vivid eyes. 

“Mummy wants her little chick alive.” 

“I'm not your – ”

Drusilla's hand covered Buffy's mouth. She gripped Buffy's ponytail, jerking her head back, exposing the line of her throat. Drusilla licked her neck, from the space between Buffy's collar-bones to her chin. Her tongue was cold, and her grip was firm, forcing Buffy backwards, over. Buffy whimpered in response to the touch. She could have fought it – part of her demanded that she must – but she went limp at Drusilla's touch, shivering against the vampire. 

Drusilla scooped Buffy up in her arms, holding the Slayer against her chest. Buffy felt small, suddenly diminished, pressing her face into crushed velvet, feeling the iron strength of Drusilla's limbs. She smelt cinnamon, and blood. 

Drusilla threw her onto the four-poster bed. It sagged with dust and time. A host of porcelain dolls blinked and twitched around her. Buffy could only look at Dru: the curve of her hips, the shape of her arms. Her hair, her teeth. 

“Do you want to run away?” Drusilla stepped back. “I'll let you, little chick. Mummy will let you fly the nest.” 

Buffy felt helpless. She didn't want to run. She didn't even understand why Drusilla was offering. She wanted to be captured, to be held by Dru. It was frightening to realise that was what she wanted: a pain burned in her chest. 

But she didn't move. She lay where she had been thrown, as though Drusilla had tied her down. 

Drusilla laughed. “See, little Slayer? You are not under my thrall. Leave if you wish. Or stay.” 

Buffy tensed as Drusilla climbed onto the bed next to her. Her fingers locked over Buffy's wrists, and she lay, looking at Buffy, laughing. “Mummy's fair,” she said. “Mummy gave you a chance.” 

Then her mouth was at Buffy's breast. 

6.

No one had ever licked her like this: as though she was delicious, as though she was about to be swallowed whole. Dru's hand bracketed her hips, but Buffy still thrashed against the licking, teasing mouth. Every now and then, just before Buffy might reach her climax, Drusilla stopped, and looked up at her, and laughed. 

“Do you want to leave?” she said. 

Buffy bit her lip, shook her head, whimpered. 

Her throat felt raw from moans. Her thighs quivered, her stomach fluttered. And she was so wet: Goddamn, she was wet. She desperately wanted fingers inside her, Dru thrusting against her, she wanted to be filled by Dru, her body clenching as she was fucked. 

But Drusillas fingers hadn't entered her at all, her mouth concentrating on Buffy's labia, her tongue lapping around Buffy's clit. 

“Do you want to leave?” Drusilla asked again, smiling. Her face was wet with Buffy's slick, her chin, her nose. It was the most erotic thing Buffy had ever seen. 

Buffy shook her head. 

“Say it, little chick.” 

Buffy remained mute, shivering, clit throbbing urgently. She wriggled her pelvis, looking for friction. 

Drusilla was silent, hands on Buffy's hips, offering no relief. 

“I don't want to leave,” Buffy whispered. 

“Pretty little girl. What do you want, hmm? Tell Mummy.” 

“I want...” Buffy squirmed, thrashed. There were no words for what she wanted. “I need...” 

“Yes?” Drusilla prompted, her grin sharp and hungry. 

“You. I need you, I need your fingers, I need you to...” Buffy swallowed. The words weren't there, and then she said, desperately, “Fuck me. Fuck. I need you to fuck me.” 

Drusilla laughed again. Buffy felt her whole body grow hot, flushed with humiliation and desire. “Good girl,” Drusilla said, and then, with no warning, she slid two of her fingers into Buffy's hot centre. 

7.

Drusilla's mouth on Buffy's: lips impossibly cool, tasting of Buffy's own wet core. She kissed Buffy like she owned her, like Buffy's mouth was hers to do with what she wished. She bit, she sucked, she drew blood. And Buffy's senses vanished into Drusilla's body, she lost awareness of anything other than Drusilla's hands and tongue and the weight of her limbs. She was a creature of heat and need. Buffy's eyes closed, the darkness against them a caress. 

8\. 

Though the heavy curtains obscured the windows, Buffy knew it was still night. She was trembling, her skin flushed, and desperately thirsty. She didn't know how long Drusilla had fucked her, how long she'd whimpered in those cold arms. She felt empty: her mind was a still lake, and thoughts were merely the reflections of clouds crossing its surface. 

Drusilla draped her body over Buffy's. “Little chick. You've had so many treats today. You're full of cream and wine.” Cool fingers soothed Buffy's brow. “Don't you think Mummy deserves a treat too?” 

Buffy's mouth was dry, but saliva seemed to rise from nowhere. Her lips parted. _Yes_ , her body said. _Yes, I want to touch you. I want to lick you. I want to do what you tell me._

Buffy nodded. But something told her eagerness wasn't quite right for this moment. With a guile she didn't know she had, she said, “But I've … never done this. How do I … make you happy?” 

It was the right thing to say. Drusilla rolled onto her back, pulling Buffy on top of her. Her grin was feral. She spread her thighs, so Buffy was lying in between them, and though in this position Buffy could easily have overpowered her, she still felt entirely at Drusilla's mercy. She was smaller and hot with slick and sweat, and all she could think about was Drusilla's cool limbs, her quick teeth. 

Drusilla guided Buffy's head to her nipple: her breasts were large, much larger than Buffy's, the aureoles dark and full, and surrounded by a number of long, silky hairs. Buffy had never seen breasts like these before and she both wanted to touch them and was a little afraid she'd do something wrong. 

“Lick,” Drusilla said, and Buffy licked. The nipple was large too, it fit comfortably in Buffy's lips, as Buffy sucked and drew it into her mouth. Drusilla guided Buffy's hand to the other breast, and pinched Buffy's fingers over her aureole. Buffy took the hint, squeezing the breast as she sucked and tugged at the other. 

“Good girl,” Drusilla praised, and Buffy bit back a whimper. Again she felt lost in Drusilla: the cool weight of her breasts, the taste of her skin. There was an intimacy here, a rawness, and it was intoxicating. Drusilla wasn't a quick fantasy of skin: she was the smell of candles, the tang of sweat, the ache in Buffy's tongue and in her vulva. She was real, and here, and containing Buffy in her arms and thighs while Buffy sucked at her breast. 

Drusilla kept saying _Mummy_ , and Buffy had been trying not to think about the implications. She'd been trying not to listen. But every time Drusilla said it, something inside Buffy relaxed, because this was what she wanted: to belong to someone, to be safe, to be held. In this moment, all she needed to do was lick and touch and obey, and it was such a relief. 

Buffy turned her attention to the other breast, tonguing the nipple. She sucked at the skin and was delighted to see a purple bruise begin to rise. Drusilla sighed softly. “Clever little chick,” she said, and Buffy tried to hide the emotions that rose in her by sucking harder, drawing the nipple to the roof of her mouth. 

9.

“Do you have anything to drink?” Buffy asked, her head on Drusilla's thigh. 

“Haven't I given you plenty?” Drusilla bit her lower lip, looking down at Buffy. 

“I need water too. I'm thirsty,” Buffy complained. 

“I don't need water, little one. Only blood.”

Buffy sighed. “I'll have to leave eventually. I'll have to get a drink.” Her mouth tasted sour: of the sharp taste of Drusilla's pussy, the warm wet she had known before only from her own fingers. She wished that nothing would remind her of the world outside this room. She knew, once she left, she'd begin to hate herself. 

“I could make you mine,” Drusilla said. “Then you wouldn't need water.” 

Buffy felt her muscles tense. “No.” 

Drusilla nodded. “Not yet.” 

Not yet. Never. But Drusilla was relaxed, making no move to hurt her. Her dark hair tangled against the pillow, and her breast and belly showed dark bruises where Buffy had bitten and sucked the skin. Buffy didn't want to leave. In fact, despite her thirst, her tiredness, the ache in her groin, she wanted Drusilla again, she wanted to be held and fucked, she wanted to vanish into the bed covers. 

Drusilla scented the air. She reminded Buffy suddenly of something inhuman: a snake perhaps. But somehow it wasn't a bad feeling. 

“You're so young,” Drusilla said. She caressed Buffy's back, her neck. Then she tangled her fingers in Buffy's hair, and tugged. “On your knees. 

10.

Outside the gas station, Buffy downed a whole bottle of Gatorade. The sun had risen, but it was still early. Her head throbbed, her thighs ached. She knew she'd better start walking home, but she stood there, holding the empty bottle. Sunlight played over her skin. 

A bird sang. _Little chick_ , Buffy thought.


End file.
